For Her
by stellaslomp
Summary: I volunteered for her, because she looked so weak, so helpless, and I couldn't leave her.
1. Chapter 1

_"I am surrounded by idiots," _I think as I survey the room of people training for the imminent arrival of the Games tomorrow, _"Do these people even realize what they are training for, the glory? Or their own deaths." _

"I'm going home little brother," I call to Cato as he strikes yet another dummy. Cato. My sweet little brother, so calm under pressure, just nods and continues to hack away at his target. I waltz towards my house and as I change from my training clothes I start to sing. My Mum calls for me to _'Pipe down. Dad has a headache.' _and I carry on dancing my way to the dinner table, laden with celebratory food, announcing that tomorrow, my sweet, innocent little brother will finally be eligible for his death, the Reaping.

Through dinner we converse and laugh, like a normal family, one that doesn't come from a Career obsessed district. Like a family from a district that fears the Games. When my stomach eventually complains, stuffed with delicacies, I shut my eyes and fall into the oblivion known as sleep.

When my eyes flutter open once again, I feel a hand shaking my arm as Cato's over excited face hangs over mine. He attempts to pin me to the bed but I throw him to the ground, tousling his hair.  
"Got to do better than that if you wanna win these Games little mister," I say, my sides shaking with laughter. He grins back and runs to my Mum, chatting excitedly. A smiles slips to my face as I slide into the golden dress laid out for me. My blonde hair is swept into a high mess of a ponytail, my trademark hairstyle. I smile watching my brown eyes flash in the reflection of my own face. I hate the Reaping, but I love the dressing up, not something typical of a girl from District Two.  
"Victoria?" Cato calls, " Can you take me to the square? I want to be the first one there!" By now he is clinging to my arm his eyes begging. I just couldn't say no.

As we walk we encounter his friend Jacob, and they chatter as we make our way to the square. For hours we watch men set up the square until, slowly, then all at once, the crowd filters in. Our host Clara Tragic has not yet made an appearance, but being from the Capitol, she's probably straightening her wig that is as tragic as her name.. When she does step out my eyes struggle to take in her outfit of mismatched colors.  
"Oh, _hello_ District Two! My don't you all look so excited!" She trills, and there's no exaggeration. People are literally drooling for their chance in the limelight."As always it is my pleasure to announce the tributes for your district and so without any further ado, the male tribute!"  
She teeters across the stage toward the male bowl and I watch her claws reach in, spearing apiece of paper.  
"Cato Evans?" She asks questioningly, and for a minute there is silence. I'm not scared for him. There is always a male volunteer. No sooner do I think this a boys hand shoots up and his voice rings clear,  
"I volunteer!" He makes his way to the stage, the epitome of confidence and announces,  
"Mark Clearwaters, your new victor!"  
"And now for our lovely ladies," Clara sings. Next to me a sixteen year old girl grins, showing pointed teeth in imitation of last years victor, Enobaria. _Lovely._ Again Clara pauses dramatically, then reads the name of a small girl, her foot twisted to awkward angles. She can hardly alk, let alone try and survivePity fills my chest and I long to save her, one small girl, innocent and fearful, from certain doom. And in those seconds of quiet, I raise my hand and volunteer to save her life.

_**Review Please!:)**_


	2. Chapter 2

The doors slam shut behind us as we are escorted along narrow corridors, our goodbyes still hanging from our lips. Cato came to see me, his eyes full of confidence.  
"I thought you hated the Games," he had said smiling, as he slipped a bracelet around my wrist. My token. And then he'd left, not believing he had to say goodbye. And the girl. She came to me as well, tears spilling over her cheeks, as her mouth stuttered thanks.

My mind still struggles to grasp what I've done, but when we enter the train, I relax. Who wouldn't risk their life for the beauty that surrounds me from all angles? The interior of the train shines with polish and jewels, every table covered in food and the ceiling a mass of decoration. I loved it. As I explored the rooms throughout the train, I became even more awestruck by the sheer size of it all, and eventually find sleep amongst perfection.

It feels as though no sooner have I closed my eyes that I am being called to eat and to greet the people who will help me attempt to survive the games. As I make my way, I wonder about what my family is doing right now. Surely they must be celebrating. Just as I think this, the enticing smell of food wafts into my nose and urges me into the dining cart without a moments hesitation.

A single seat remains at the table of which we are to sit at and as I cautiously take it, Enobaria, one of the mentors, begins to talk,  
"Congratulations. You are this years tributes for the Hunger Games."  
"Takes a genius to work that out 'Bar," The man sitting beside her interrupts. I snort, earning a grin from him and a glare from her. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table,  
"Which of you are gonna win, huh?" He asks. Immediately Mark strikes his chest clearly pronouncing he would.  
"As I expected. I get the girl," My mentor announces as he saunters off. Enobaria smirks as though pleased with the decision, and leaves as well.

For a while Mark and I sit, eating in silence until he asks me,  
"Where did you know that little girl from?"  
"I didn't,"I reply,"But she looked so weak and hopeless that I had to help her." He sits for a while before responding,  
"You can't think like that in the Games." Mark makes his exit leaving me alone. Eventually I return to the room I fell asleep in and lie there, until darkness overcomes me.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake to the screech of brakes as we slide into the train station. Quickly, I throw on a dress of navy blue and slip my feet into ballet pumps of the same colour. My hair is still tied high from yesterday so I leave it up. My feet find way to the dining room where my mentor stands. He motions for the door, and as we step out, raises my hand high in signal of victory.  
"Keep calm honey," He whispers into my ear,"It may be impressive, but we need to get you to the Remake Centre, pronto." Impressive, I decide is the understatement of the year. All around me people scream my name and district, the colours they sport blinding and behind them buildings the colour of candy seem to reach into the clouds.

I am dragged through crowds as they reach towards me, stroking my dress, touching my hair. All I can do is wave and smile in a race to gain sponsors. For all I know, one of them could save my life. Finally, after what seems like hours, we make it to the Remake Centre where Enobaria is waiting.  
"Took you long enough Josh,"She says.  
"Not my fault the princess wanted to sleep in," He replies with a grin, his grey eyes twinkling,"Get her to her designer!"

* * *

I stand in the middle of the room with not a single piece of clothing on. Around me circles a tall woman, who eyes every imperfection of my entire being. She nods and deems me 'acceptable' before I am wrapped in a thin cloth robe. I follow her to yet another room where she begins to talk,  
"Hello dear! My name's Valeria and I'm your designer!" I look at her. Her hair is pulled into some elaborate hairdo and dyed magenta. Her dress is made of flashing lights and a silly hat adorns her head, but she has the most beautiful eyes that sparkle bright green in her excitement and I find that excitement contagious.  
"Let's get you dressed!" She says with a flourish.

Something is pulled over my shoulders and when it drops, the weight and the cool sting on my skin implies metal.  
"Tada," Valeria whispers in my ear as I open my eyes. Before me stands a girl dressed like a gladiator from the times of ancient Rome. The gleam of the metal reflects the sun and strapped to her waist is a sword of pure gold. She stands tall and strong and looks like a winner, a victor. She is my reflection.  
"Wow," I breathe, turning to face Valeria,"Thank you."

By the time we take our places in the Chariot, my feet are steady. The chariot sways as the horses take their first lunging step forward. The crowds that surround the pathways cheer as we come into view, screaming for us, as we roll around the square. In the heat of the moment, I draw my sword from it's scabbard, raising it in salute. A fresh wave of cries erupt from hundreds of throats and I listen, silently thanking Valeria for the edge she has given me.

Literally.


	4. Chapter 4

Brightness floods my vision as my eyes open again. The shouts from last night still echo in my brain and as I stumble into the hallway, I can't stop a smile from creeping onto my face. I sweep my blonde fringe out from my eyes and step towards the breakfast bar and grab a plate which I begin to fill with food.  
"We were amazing last night weren't we?" A questioning voice asks from behind me. I don't need to turn to know it's Mark.  
"Definitely." I reply through a mouthful of food, "Can't see how we could have been any better." Mark joins me at the table and I watch him eat.  
"What's your favourite weapon?" He inquires  
"Swords. Preferably dual, but I don't really like weapons. What's yours?" He stares at me in disbelief.  
"You are one strange girl Victoria. You volunteered for someone you didn't know _to save her? _And you don't like _weapons_?" He says shaking his head.  
"Your favourite weapon," I say slowly, changing the topic.  
"Spear, for absolutely no reason at all." That grin of his comes back and I find myself smirking as well.

Before long we are taken to the Training Centre. I note that we are the first to arrive, typical of District 2. There is nothing we can do but wait for the rest of the tributes to show up and when we do begin, I head straight for the knives, keeping in line with the 'Career' theme even though I struggle with the thought of taking someone's life. I'm still fairly decent though, being trained my whole life for this thing, but I have to win through other ways. My brain.

I head to most stations that day, excelling at some things, learning at others. My palms burn from climbing and my legs tremble from exertion and when I lie down in my cavernous bedroom sleep finds me immediately.

For another two days it's the same thing, eat, train, sleep, repeat. By the time it's my private session, I can hardly drag myself from the bed. I do manage, and all to soon I am performing, like an elephant in a circus, for the Gamemakers.

They study my every move as I circle around the room, moving from activity to activity, showing my newly gained but wide knowledge. It's something that not many 'Careers' can do. Throw a knife and climb a tree, swing a sword or ace an edible plants test, shoot an arrow or tie a knot. I feel superior and like I have a chance to win these games against the other Careers, who are, really, my only competition.

And I embrace the nickname.

Career.


	5. Chapter 5

Interviews.

It's the first thought that ingrains itself into my brain, compelling me to move from my bed and shake off any hints of lethargy. The day passes in a swirling flash of training and dresses, with my Valeria eventually deciding on a crimson dress that shimmers like wine in the sunlight.

* * *

The lights backstage burn into my eyes, disorientating, a fire that causes splotches to dance before my eyes. My name is being called and I am ushered from the line of tributes. I take nervous steps forward, slowly growing in confidence. By the time I reach Caesar, my head is held high, a cocky smile thrown casually onto my features.

"So Victoria," Caesar Flickerman begins, "Why are you here tonight?" I grin at the audience, knowing that my face is being broadcast on every television screen in Panem right now. I know I'm here for that little girl, but that won't win me any sponsors."Well Caesar, I'm obviously here for the games, right?" The roars of the crowd are deafening as Caesar laughs,  
"What wouldn't we expect from a Career! Do you have any thoughts about these people?"  
_'They seem nice' _I think but instead I say,  
"These Games are mine" For a while longer we make small talk;Training Score (10), Family, and so on before I have to exit the stage. I breathe in and exhale just as Mark takes the stage. The audience laughs at something he says and Caesar asks about the competition and he replies,  
"I got this. These games are mine." And I begin to tune out.

One by one the tributes speak, some confident, some quite. They all play from different angles. The only similar interviews are mine and Mark's, and I turn to him with a scowl.  
"So original _Mark,"_ I hiss, practically spitting his name. His reply is cut of by the Anthem. We are soon taken back to our rooms and shut in, like livestock from District 10. But of course, I understand.

Tomorrow is the Games.


	6. Chapter 6

I sit at the table and my hands shake as I grab a piece of bread. I try to push down my fears; they will only hold me back.  
"You nervous?" Mark asks causally, as though he was asking about a test.  
"I'm fine," I reply and his grin grows wider.  
"Sure Victoria, I might spare you in the Bloodbath then!" He says leaping forwards and tackles me to the ground. I shriek, laughing and our Mentors walk in.  
"Stop the flirting, we need to talk tactics," Enobaria snarls at us. We stand, brushing dust from our clothes and my face burns in embarrassment.  
"Get to the Cornucopia, grab the weapons, kill some people and work from there," Josh says and for the first time, he's serious. We nod our agreement and start asking questions.  
"If someone attacks, what do we do?"  
"Do we have to stay in the Career pack?"  
For a while we continue to discuss the Games until we are summoned. My breathing increases and I let go of Mark's hand. I've been holding it for support.

My palms are slick with with sweat as I change into the outfit that tributes are required to wear. The thick black material clings close to my body. It's soft against my skin and the lightness of the fabric is startling. I imagine myself standing over a fallen tribute, blood on my knife, hands stained red. I shudder.  
"All tributes to starting platform please," A static voice calls. I step into the glass cylinder, it's cool surface running under my hands.

And all to soon, the plate begins to rise.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunlight and blinds my brown eyes as my head emerges from the ground. The bracelet on my wrist - my last connection to Cato - shines silver in the light. Before me stands the Cornucopia, casting a golden reflection on the people who surround it and it's precious goods. All around I watch people as they prepare to run, the seconds count down, from sixty to one before the legendary voice of Claudius Templesmith announces,  
"Let the Games begin!"

I am faster than the rest of the Careers. I know this, because my times were always the highest on the sprint track at the Training Centre. Even still, my breath is ragged from the power behind my sprint. Behind me other Tributes are beginning to arrive. I spin, dagger clutched in my grasp towards a boy who barrels towards me. His wild swing misses by miles and I whisper,  
"I'm sorry," Before the blade pierces his skin, digging deep into his chest. His eyes meet mine. Accusing, hating and dying eyes. I turn away. Nearby Mark thrusts with his spear and the entrails of a fellow tribute slides from his stomach, the flesh around it completely cut open. The scene of a once clear desert surrounds me, barren and bloodstained. Screams ring through the air and the smell and taste of blood invades my senses. And still the fighting carries on.

It's midday by the time the first cannon sounds, telling us all that the battle of the Bloodbath is over. 1, 2, 3, they sound, loud and voluminous, 10, 11, 12. The last one rings and echoes across rocky outcrops and waves of sand. Twelve dead. Half the contestants in one day. The worst part is knowing that a strangers death was my fault. Somewhere far away, my family and Cato will be celebrating the fact that I have just become a murderer. I survey the pack that surrounds me, my allies. The girl from One, Chantelle, has blood staining her hands, a wild grin plastered to her face. Her black hair falls into her eyes. The imposing figure of Caius, a tall boy with the bluest of eyes that shine with blood-lust stands beside her. Then (of course) there is Mark and me, and somewhere in the distance, Cassius stands above another victim, his district partner already fallen. These are the Careers. The ones who will kill.


End file.
